Sun God: A Short Story
A young boy sits under his favourite tree, it gives him apples and stands the tallest on the family farm. The boy watches the sunflower crops and wonders how such delicate beings can grow so high. He himself was only 6 years old and three foot three, for the first time the boy felt jealous. Jealous of the sunflowers and resented how in only a year they have undeservedly grown to twice his height. Life wasn’t fair, not to the boy. He shot up and dusted off his work pants before running straight through the overgrown sunflower crop. Finding the largest, strongest one, ‘it’s taunting me’ the boy thought. Without hesitation the young lad of only three foot three accessed the thick, woody stem using the branching leaves like stepping stones. His young arms began to hurt, feeling the strain of pulling their host up a giant twice his own height. But the boy was nothing if not determined, through the intense ache, he pulled and climbed up until he sat atop the giant flower. Looking out over the large expanse of stretch of crops, the small boy finally understood what it was like to be big. Power flooded his senses and all the boy wanted from that moment on, was to feel the sun close on his face. “Why should sunflowers and grownups be the only ones to touch the sun?’ the boy thought, he could only imagine how warm and bright the sun's face must feel on his fingertips. Oh how he longed to reach out and caress its face. Already closer than ever to his beloved sun, the boy wanted more. Never high enough, never close enough. He sat on that tall, prized sunflower for weeks and weeks, sleeping and eating on this pseudo vehicle to the sky. The boy's mother was skeptical, a tall woman herself, not seeing why her little son would want to sit atop a sunflower for days on end only to touch the sun. “the sun is big enough to touch you down here on the ground! Besides one day you'll be big and tall just like your father someday, be patient, my dear” her boy ignored her, insisting on remaining seated on the highest flower at all times. The woman sighed, her poor son was blinded by desire, unable to see the gifts laying right in front of him. She sulked back into her little farm house, knowing the only way she would see her son again would be above her, looking down from his hill of desires. Weeks turned into months and as the flower grew closer and closer to the sun, the boy grew more and more excited. He could feel the warmth on his face stronger than ever before and only longed to feel it hotter. The boy's spirit seemed to feed this mighty sunflower as it rose up above all the rest, turning the other flowers to tiny specks in it’s wake. The sun, as beautiful as it was, proved to be a cruel mistress. Heat penetrated the boy's flesh and burns arose on his once supple baby face. Not that he minded, all that mattered was the simple closeness of his burning mistress. Flower petals began to burn away and all the boy had to sit upon was the stiff, woody stem. A small pedestal to hold such a spirited young Icarus. Though this boy achieved what icarus could not, this boy stood on his toes and grazed the blazing star with his tiny fingertips. His wings did not melt away, though his balance had. A soft smile spread across the child’s burnt, contented face. Feeling the wind zip past his body, rapidly cooling his hot flesh as he fell towards the earth on which he belonged. He was no flighted fool, nor any angel worthy of cavorting with sun gods. And so, as only a young mortal boy, he touched the earth with a blood curdling crunch. But he did not feel a thing, everything was alright to the young Icarus, he had achieved what gods could not, he had touched the sun and the sun had given him the gift of satisfaction. Unhappy as he may be, he was satisfied. Unhappy with his bones shattered to dust, unhappy with his mother's constant preaching of “I told you so” he now could only hope for the satisfaction to last a lifetime.
Nursery: A Short Story
Jonathan Sommer was born in a nursery, a home birth. It was all the sommer family could afford. He had ten sisters and twenty brothers, all of whom were born just like Jonathan, in the nursery. The day Jonathan turned two years old, his mother and father knew he was different. Each of the boy’s siblings had their own delicate airs about them, like they could float away like angels instead of children. All born with smooth, translucent skin showing off the healthy veins in their faces. But Jonathan was not as delicate and lovely as his Siblings, he could not swing from the mobiles in the nursery like his sisters and he could not see the beautiful lively veins in his skin like all the other boys could. Jonathan's complexion was peachy and soft, a genetic anomaly in the Sommers family. Too, the little boy was much fatter than his siblings. Only two years old but still much too heavy to sit in a hanging basket like his siblings. Jonathan cried when he found out he was not allowed to play with his brothers and sisters anymore, he was simply too rough with them. The boy’s incredible strength would tear the other children’s skin and stain the boys skin with greens, reds, purples and yellows. Eventually Jonathan was moved to his own bed to avoid crushing the other children under his weight. Everyone else shared large soft beds and perfectly laid side by side leaving their neighbor unharmed. But Jonathan had to sleep on the big sacks of soil his parents could provide for him. Even at four years old, Jonathan was bigger and stronger than any of his siblings. The Sommer family fell behind the boy, unable to keep up with his massive appetite. “The boy’s eating us out of house and home!” His father said, Jonathan's mother could only weep, exhausted of options and without any idea of what to do with poor Johnathan. Through tearful sobs Jonathan's mother proposed to her husband the only thing left to do, the boy had to go but to where? His mother pondered what kind of respectable person would take such a burden onto them, none came to mind. It was then that Jonathan's father took his frail wife to the tool shed. “A Hammer to break the skull” he said to her, “a saw to sever fatty limbs” His words bringing about more tears from mothers' eyes. “And thirty hungry children '' this caused his wife’s head to shoot up and stare curiously into his eyes. “It isn’t right! No there must be some other way!” Her eyes are holding more anger than sadness. “There is nothing else we can do! It be us or him! In due time the boy will eat our thirty children and then us!” His father was shouting now. Frustration boiling in his blood, he grabbed his best hand saw off the rack and shoved it into his wife’s shaking hands. Before ushering her out, he chose his heaviest hammer for himself and the two set off to their beloved nursery. Mother’s tip toes felt like stomping feet as she inched her way closer to the sleeping children. Father held no hesitation in stepping hastily up to the soil sack bed his son lay on, on a silent count of three, Jonathan's father swung his deathly hammer down upon the sleeping boy. Jonathan’s mother screamed a wild banshee scream but was unable to turn away. The other children did not wake, too immersed in sweet dream land to rouse to the guttural scream of their mother or the wet blunt sounds of their father’s best hammer colliding with their brothers head. Mother stifled her sobs on the sleeve of her warm nightgown and slowly stepped toward her youngest son, knowing it was her duty now to sever each of the boy’s limbs. Limb by limb she crunched through bone and squelched through bloody muscle. First she squeezed the blood from the left arm onto Jonathan's sisters, then using her long fingernails, scraped tissues from the right arm onto his sleeping brothers. Then finally buried both legs in a bed of new soil to bring new life to the nursery. The deed was done, the boy gone and out of sight. The next day was peaceful, quiet, as mother and father ate their minuscule breakfast of eggs and toast. Johnathans siblings awoke and stretched taller than ever before. Though it was no mystery to their parents, “must be the boys doing” mother mused “I always knew he’d be good for something” she bit into her boiled egg but felt a rotten familiarity in the squelch it made. “Indeed my dear, a worthy sacrifice to see our children so happy and healthy, not to mention the quiet is quite nice, don't you think?” Father added. “Yes, indeed” mother spoke but her mouth held the flesh of the egg in her mouth, eventually spitting the remnants of it into her napkin, a glob of white and yellow though all mother saw was red pulsing muscle. Excusing herself from the table, mother made her way to the nursery for some fresh air and happy smiles from her children. They had all gotten so big just overnight! At first mother was pleased but remembering the deed they had done to achieve such a prize left her feeling sick. She sat on the bench next to her eldest daughter and shut her eyes, hoping to catch a glimpse of clarity rather than foggy guilt. It was only then that her children seemed to speak.
Churchill Garden: A Short Story
My mother was just like me, a beautiful girl who loved nothing more than to play out in her garden. She planted roses just for me, they were her favourite and when she realized I was to be born, she littered the large flower beds with roses of all colours. Red, yellow, white, just everywhere. I spent my childhood watching buds burst into bloom, and letting the overgrown ivy hang down from our canopy to tickle my nose. Mother would sometimes cut the biggest brightest roses from their stems and arrange them around my crib. I was her little rose, so it is only fit that I would be surrounded with creatures like me. She told me everyday that I was her beautiful little rose.
Hi! I’m an actress, singer, dancer and overall competitive person. My whole life I was never good enough, everyone around me was 2 steps ahead. When I started doing community theatre the standard was always perfection. I felt like I had to become someone else in order to achieve what they wanted. Granted, it worked, I am now one of the top actors in my company.
How an Actress Gets Into Character
Hi! Alright so I'm currently in rehearsal for a play called “Pullman Car Hiawatha”, I’m playing the “Insane Woman” who is one of the main characters. Now before I can get into character I have to breakdown the character! I’ll be posting a separate article on that soon as it is WAY too long to put in here! But once I know EVERYTHING about the character I can’t finally start becoming her.